KUMAMOTO, August, 1894.
DEAR NISHIDA,--Many, many best thanks for the excellent photograph of
yourself, and your kindest letter. The photograph brought so vividly
before me again the kind eyes that saw so much for me, and the kind lips
that told me so many wise, good things, and advised me and helped me so
much,--that I could not but feel more sorry than ever at having missed
you.
Mr. Senke has sent me the most beautiful letter, which I hope to answer
by this same mail. What a divine thing the old Japanese courtesy was!
and how like _Kami sama_ the dear old men who remember it, and preserve
it. Of course Mr. Senke is a young man, but _his_ courtesy is the old
courtesy. The high schools seem to me to be ruining Japanese manners,
and therefore morals--because morals are manners to a certain extent.
Those who lose the old ways never replace them; they cannot learn
foreign courtesy, which is largely a matter of tone,--tone of voice,
address, touch of minds, and benevolence in small things, which is our
politeness. So they remain without any manners at all, and their hearts
get hardened in some queer way. They cease to be lovable, and often
become unbearable. I hope the great reaction will bring back, among
other things, some of the knightly old ways.
I send a reprint of my last Japanese story. Hope my book will reach you
soon, and will not displease you. Of course, you will find in it many
mistakes--as any book written by a foreigner must be rich in errors. But
the general effect of the book will not be bad, I think. I am now trying
to write a sketch about Yuko Hatakeyama, the girl who killed herself at
Kyōto in May, 1891, for loyalty's sake. The fact is full of wonderful
meaning--as indicating a national sentiment.
Kazuo is crawling about, opening drawers, and causing much trouble. His
eyes have again changed colour,--from blue to brown, like my own; but
his hair remains chestnut. His upper teeth are well out, and everybody
wonders how strong he is. He has one Japanese virtue: he does not cry,
and keeps his self-control even when hurt. I hope he will keep all
these traits. My whole anxiety is now about him: I must send him, or,
if possible, take him abroad--for a scientific education, if he prove
to have a good head. That will be expensive. But I hope to do it. I do
not think a father should leave his son alone in a foreign school, if it
can be helped: he ought to be always near him, until manhood. And Setsu
would feel at home soon in France or in Italy,--at least at home enough
to bear the life until Kazuo could get through a course or two.
The foreign community sorrows about the war,--naturally. Business is
paralyzed. Every one feels the Japanese will win the fights. But who
will win the war? That might be a question of money. Japan is daring
to do what the richest country in Europe fears to do--because it costs
so much to fight China. And some of the Izumo boys are out there in the
rice-fields of Chosön. I trust they will pass safely through all perils.
Please send me any news of them you can.